Page 22 of Her Notorious Rake
Gemma dug her fingers into the stone balustrade she’d leaned upon, watching as he strode back inside. Heart sinking, she frowned to herself.But I must have been presumptuous. What an utterly bewildering man.
Chapter 10
“I beg you to refrain from vanishing as you did last evening,” Aunt Philippa cast Gemma a searching look as she examined herself in the looking glass, patting a loose strand of hair into place. “I was attempting to introduce you to Duke Ashton and his wife. They are most eager to meet you. But woefully, I looked about and you’d disappeared.”
“Forgive me, Aunt Philippa,” Gemma wrung her hands behind her back. She was apologizing to her long-suffering aunt a considerable amount these days, it would seem.
But what would she think of Miss Elderidge’s comments, her barbed words? Would she dismiss them? Already she had told her to ignore the scandal sheets. But it was difficult to when everywhere she went, people whispered behind gloved hands and fans, glancing at one another with derisive smiles.
Aunt Philippa turned, scanning her up and down approvingly. “I was just writing your mother what a lovely girl you are. How I can make you the most desirable girl of the season. But you must not cross lines and bounds that are set in place, for propriety’s sake. You must not disregard my counsel,” she grasped Gemma’s hand in hers, giving it a soft pat.
Gemma nodded, unable to speak.
“I saw you speaking with Lord Blakemore.” Aunt Philippa turned about, as a footman carried forward her coat, setting it on her shoulders.
Gemma’s heart tripped. “Only for a few moments, Aunt Philippa.”
Aunt Philippa raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t believe this. Once they were outside, walking down the steps to Lord Neville’s awaiting coach, Aunt Philippa muttered, “And you were not onthe terrace with him? Pray, inform me if I am mistaken, but I believe I espied him emerge from the terrace, and you as well shortly after.”
Gemma’s face heated. “I stepped out for a moment of reprieve and discovered him already there. He was hasty to take leave.”
Aunt Philippa harrumphed as Lord Neville absconded from the carriage, bowing to each, but lingering over Gemma’s hand. Gemma offered him her warmest smile, to which he responded with a blush and one of his own, a peck to her hand that was altogether courteous and genteel. Gemma glanced over to see Aunt Philippa beaming approvingly, and it all brought back the memories of Mama attempting to match her with Vicar Jennings. She bristled, but replied to Lord Neville’s inquiries about her time thus far in London and if she had very much enjoyed the concert the night before.
“It has been…” she searched for the right word, “…exhilarating.”
“Exhilarating,” Lord Neville repeated, stepping aside for Aunt Philippa and her to board the carriage. “Well, that is delightful.” As they sat down on one side of the carriage, he sat on the other, directly across from Gemma. His pale eyes bore into her, and she turned her head to gaze out the window, a bit unnerved. It was quite clear what was happening here. Aunt Philippa intended on making a match between Gemma and the kindly, but dull, Lord Neville, and as much as she appreciated her aunt’s generosity and kindness thus far, she could not abide the thought of letting herself get paired off with a gentleman of someone else’s choosing. But there was no doubt that Aunt Philippa would be just as dismissive about the idea of marrying for love as Mama was.
Gemma dug her nails into her palm, taking in a deep breath as the carriage rumbled forward.
“My box at the opera is afforded, in my estimation, the finest views in the theater, as well as the best acoustical advantage,” Lord Neville declared as the carriage withdrew from the steps of Aunt Philippa’s home and onto the main thoroughfare.
Gemma managed a tight smile, wrapping her arms about herself until Aunt Philippa nudged her, a signal she’d adopted to remind Gemma to amend her posture.
Gemma straightened, clenching her teeth. Oh, but to be able to fly far, far way, and land on a star. And dwell upon it. If only to be free of these societal expectations. Her stomach turned at the idea of becoming Lord Neville’s bride. Of course, he was a good, gentle soul. Always smiling, always cheery. But something lacked.
At last, the carriage arrived at the opera—after what must have been an eternity. Gemma exhaled a breath of relief when she could escape from beneath the steady gaze of the man sitting across from her, and she fell behind her Aunt Philippa and Lord Neville as they advanced up the steps to the pillared opera building. People thronged about, chatting in the cool evening air. It looked as if it would rain any moment, and they hastened up and into the building, where footmen received their cloaks and coats and Lord Neville’s hat.
To Gemma’s dismay, he fell back to match her pace as they ascended the steps to the second floor, where they would find their box. He peered at her almost shyly, his mouth curving into a smile, and Gemma watched as her aunt hurried on ahead, with a coy glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t be more discreet than a cat trying to steal cream from the larder.
Gemma set her jaw.
“You are in for a wondrous pleasure this evening. The Countess Rosina Almaviva is to be played by a famous Italian opera singer.”
Gemma nodded, offering him a bright smile, and hecontinued to ply her with little-known considerations about the performance, most of which she scarcely heard as she tried to take in the crowd bustling around them on the stairs and below them in the main atrium, almost holding her breath until at last, she glimpsed him, just entering through the main doors downstairs. Could it truly be? Lord Blakemore?
He was tall enough to be easily noticed above the crowd between them, but on his arm walked a stately young woman—his distant cousin, Gemma recalled, Celeste. They followed behind his mother who he did not escort this evening. Rather, his mother entered on his uncle’s arm. Gemma stiffened as Celeste cast a doe-eyed look at Lord Blakemore. She leaned over and whispered something to him, earning a chuckle from him.
“Miss Hayesworth? Come, just a little further. My box is this way.”
She pulled her gaze from Lord Blakemore and his cousin, and turned to hurry on up the rest of the steps, where Lord Neville and Aunt Philippa waited. Aunt Philippa cast her a questioning frown, which Gemma did not know how to respond to. They followed Lord Neville to his box, furthest at the end of the corridor due to its placement nearly above the stage.
Gemma caught her breath as she entered the box on the heels of her aunt, unable to decide on where to look first. It was all very grand, even more so than the front atrium. Red velvet everywhere she looked, the low hum of people entering and finding their seats reverberating around the vast room. A massive chandelier hung far above their heads, and they did indeed enjoy a good view of the stage. Gemma caught her breath, her eyes drawn to the painting on the ceiling, that of stars and cherubs, beating their angel wings across the blue expanse.
“Is it not resplendent?” Lord Neville asked in her ear, rather too close for Gemma’s liking. She did not wish to slight him, but she could not abide the feel of his breath against her face. It senta shudder through her.
“Oh, indeed it is,” she managed, casting her aunt an uncertain look. But Aunt Philippa hardly seemed to notice, as she spoke to another couple in the neighboring box.
Gemma turned her head and her eyes landed on the box across the way, where, her heart leaping, she could see Lord Blakemore’s party enter the box.
